Know
by Mandy C
Summary: Buffy and Angel try to deal with their past so that the author can write them a (relatively) happy ending.


**Spoilers:** Through S4/S7  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** "How" is by Lisa Loeb and "Do What You Have to Do" is by Sarah McLachlan. Buffy & Co. belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Fox (boo!) and others.   
**Distribution:** is awesome, just tell me where.   
**Notes:** You'll want to read "How" first. Sorry this has taken such a ridiculous amount of time--I've been quite sick, and my old computer decided to quit on me, so I've had to spend a lot of time trying to fish files out of it. Then I got caught up in the trauma of the last few "Angel" episodes and...well, you know how it is. I'm afraid that this is rather mediocre--it's a lot of talking and absolutely nothing happens. I just wanted to get rid of it, so here it is. Heh.   
**Further:** In case you forgot, Angel is human. This takes place a few months after "Chosen"; Angel does run Wolfram & Hart.  
**Feedback:** Please, please, please send me feedback. It'll take you like 1/10 the amount of time it took you to read this. E-mail at amanda@beingdrowned.com .  
  


* * *

  
_And there are some things that I'd like to figure out  
There are some things that I can do without--  
Like you, and your letters that go on forever._  
"How," Lisa Loeb   


* * *

  
She slipped the ring onto her slim finger--"heart pointing towards you," the way he'd told her once, too long ago. The silver band looked right there, almost...perfect. She picked up the phone and dialed from memory. "Angel? I--it's me. I--I need to talk to you. I need to see you. Can I see you?"   
  
Buffy swore she could hear him smile over the telephone. "Of course. Do you want me to come down?"   
  
She hesitated. "No," she said. "I'll meet you in L.A."   
  
"How about this--Let me make a few calls, and I'll pick you up at the airport. Would that be all right?"   
  
Buffy smiled. "Yeah. That would be fine."   
  
An hour later, she sat in her cramped seat as the plane lifted off for the short trip. She pulled the folded piece of stationery from her purse and began to read it again:   
  
_ Dear Buffy,   
  
I know that it is too late to be asking your forgiveness, and that I am simply reopening old wounds. Still, I would never forgive myself for letting this last chance slip away, and I don't think you would forgive me for that, either.   
  
When I first saw you, it was like stepping into the sunlight for the first time in two hundred years. You were radiant with your long blonde hair, your perfect lips. I saw you there and I fell in love, completely and irreversibly, knowing that you would never love me back. I was comfortable in this certainty until we kissed for the first time. Suddenly the dangers of my infatuation came into sharp relief: you were a girl--an exceptionally strong one, but still just a girl--and I was a monster fifteen times your age. You saw my true face and were horrified, and a part of me was glad. Even then I knew I had to stay away from you.   
  
You wouldn't let me. Buffy, those next few months were the best of my life. Holding you, feeling your lips against mine, walking hand-in-hand as you talked about school and your friends--those things were gifts, stolen moments before the hand of Fate came crashing down.   
  
It crashed down on you hardest of all. If there is one thing that I will never forgive myself for, it is what happened after we made love. Though I would not trade that night for anything in the world, I would give anything to redo the hours after. I hope you know that what the demon told you was as far from the truth as possible. That night was perfect, exquisite, and I would change nothing except for the ending.   
  
There isn't enough time to apologize for everything else, but you know it all by heart. I am sorry, Buffy, for all the ways I have hurt you. I am not sorry for loving you. I cannot apologize for the one thing that has saved me, the one thing that has allowed me to continue on my journey. Loving you and knowing that you loved me has been my greatest strength.   
  
I have spent the last three days trying to convince myself that I deserve you, that I am worthy of your love, so that I could work up the courage to write this letter. Finally, I realized what you have known all along: what you deserve is your decision. I have never given you enough credit, and I know that it is no longer my job to protect you. If you want to be with me, I will give you everything that I can. I will try to give you enough happiness to make up for the pain I have caused. Still, if you need more time, or if you need me to walk away, I will do it.   
  
This one is up to you.   
  
With love, always, Angel_   
  
Buffy stepped out of the jetway and walked up to a dark figure standing in the hall, reading the _Los Angeles Times_. "Hey," she said. He turned, and the smile faded from his face when he saw the solemn expression on hers. "Angel...you didn't have to write that letter."   
  
Angel grimaced, his jaw tight. "I understand." He began to turn away.   
  
She reached out and pulled him around to face her. "What I mean is--you didn't have to...beg, I guess. Or even apologize. I've done enough bad things...You don't owe me an apology."   
  
"I didn't know I needed to owe you." He shook his head. "Look, Buffy, I didn't write that just because I thought I had to, or to win you back, or...even the score. I needed you to know those things so that I could be at peace with myself. I tried to put some demons to rest."   
  
Putting demons to rest. Free of pain. Free to build a real life. _Fifty years_, Buffy thought. _I could have fifty years_. How many lifetimes had it been already? A clean slate, a fresh start. Free of pain.   
  
No. Buffy knew it couldn't happen.   
  
She could still see her mother's eyes.   
  
"It still hurts, though, doesn't it," she said.   
  
Angel nodded. "It still hurts."   
  
Buffy took his hand, held it against her much smaller one. She studied his hand and the ring on his finger for a long moment before she spoke again. "Does the pain ever go away?"   
  
The tears in her throat made Angel certain that she was no longer talking only about their relationship. He sighed, wanting to lie but not able to. Not to her. "Not really," he said honestly. She nodded and looked away, biting her lip. He continued, "It fades, though. The pain will fade."   
  
Buffy smirked. "They keep telling me that. I keep waiting."   
  
"I know."   
  
They walked to his car, together and still distinctly alone.   
  
II.   
  
_There are rays on the weather. Soon these tears will have cried, all loneliness have died, my love._ --Sinead O'Connor, "In This Heart"   
  
"It's...nice," Buffy said, eyes wide.   
  
He gave her a small smile. "Nice? My penthouse apartment in L.A. is nice?"   
  
"Okay, it's gorgeous," she admitted. She grinned at him. "This human thing suits you. You already have the materialism down."   
  
Angel shrugged. "I've never been one to skimp on housing. I tend to spend a lot of time inside."   
  
"Yeah. I guess." She walked to the window and looked out across the city, glowing and pristine in the late afternoon sunlight. "Has it hit you yet? Being human--I mean, I'm still kinda reeling, and I'm not the one it happened to."   
  
"Not really," he said, still standing near the door. "I've been--I don't know. Everything is--different now. All of a sudden I have an entire human lifetime ahead of me. I don't want to throw it away." _Again_, he thought.   
  
"You're still young."   
  
"Twenty-seven," he said absent-mindedly.   
  
They stood in silence for a long moment, until Buffy spun around to glare at him. "Angel, when is your birthday?"   
  
He stared at her. "What?"   
  
"Your birthday!" she said impatiently. "Those are kind of important for a human. You know, candles and presents and really off-key singing? Or, if you're me, death, destruction, and misery." She trailed off. "Maybe skip the birthdays."   
  
Angel looked away, aghast, as though she'd slapped him in the face.   
  
"Has the pain faded, Angel?" she asked quietly. "All of the hurt, all of the tears. I'll never forget any of it."   
  
He jerked his head back up, urgency in his eyes. Here he thought things had been going well. "There wasn't only pain, Buffy. There was beauty. There was love."   
  
"We had one night of happiness and years of pain. Sorry, but I hate those odds. We've never been happy together. We fought and killed and cried but we were never happy. I don't even think we know how to be happy." She locked eyes with him. "I don't even think you want it."   
  
His gaze flashed cold. "That isn't true, and you know it. If you believed that, you wouldn't be here." He stepped towards her. "Look, Buffy, I know that you've been hurt. I know that nothing I do can erase all of it, but that doesn't give you an excuse to run away!"   
  
"Why not?" Buffy fought back the tears that threatened to spill as she stared at him evenly. "You did."   
  
Angel crossed the gap between them and grabbed her shoulders. "Why are you here, Buffy?" he asked, shaking her hard. "Huh? Did you come up here to attack me? To throw insults at me? I don't need that. And I'm not going to help you. I'm not going to pretend that I don't want this to work. If you don't, fine. But don't play these games with me, Buffy. We're past that."   
  
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the tears. "You talk a lot more now," she observed.   
  
One drop fell from the corner of her eye, landing on Angel's arm. He jerked it back as though it burned, then reached out and lifted her chin with the same hand. "I never stopped loving you," he said. _Not for lack of trying_, he thought. If only the solution were as easy as distance or time.   
  
"I did," she said. She felt him tense, but he didn't let go. "For a while I pretty much hated everything. You, me, life. After I came back it was all too much. Then I saw you again, and I was hurting so much, and you couldn't do anything to comfort me. That had never happened before. And I hated you for it. And Spike--"   
  
Angel let go of her abruptly and sat down on a stiff wooden armchair. He massaged his temples. "I don't think I can hear this, Buffy."   
  
"I think you probably have to," she said softly. She didn't move closer to him--even standing near him hurt, she realized. His hands on her shoulders had burned, sent her blood boiling and racing through every inch of her body. Besides, she wasn't sure she could say what she needed to if she had to look him in the face. "Spike died to save the world."   
  
His voice was cold. "I know." _It should have been me._   
  
"I loved him, Angel. Not--not the same way I love you. But he's been there more than anyone else has lately...and he understood. He's the only reason I'm still here--"   
  
Angel was shaking with rage. He looked up at her, knowing that if he were still a vampire, his true face would have shown long ago. "He tried to rape you," Angel growled.   
  
Buffy swallowed. "How did you know that?"   
  
The fire in his eyes had not quelled in the slightest. "You think I didn't know every time someone touched you? I _marked_ you, Buffy. That's a bond that won't ever fade." He paused and looked up at her again. "And Dawn told me."   
  
Her eyes widened. "_Dawn_ told you? I can't even--Angel, it's not what it sounds like."   
  
"What was it like, then? Was it a friendly rape?"   
  
Buffy closed her eyes. "Spike was my best friend and my worst enemy. And...he was all I had. That doesn't change the fact that he didn't have a soul. I knew that, Angel, and I accepted the consequences."   
  
"I wish it had never gotten to that point."   
  
"Well, wishes aren't worth all that much."   
  
Angel was struck by how old Buffy had gotten. When they had been together, she hadn't been innocent, but she had still been young--still hopeful. She had known plenty about demons and ancient prophecies and curses, but she had known so little about life. If he hadn't left, Angel realized, she may never have found out. He would have made every effort to shield her from it. Now she stood before him, damaged and dark and more beautiful than he had ever seen her before.   
  
Silence settled on them, heavy and suffocating.   
  
"So." He cleared his throat, desperate to lift that thick blanket. "Now that you have your life back--what do you want?"   
  
"It's weird to think about what I want," Buffy said. "I don't even know. Like I told you--I'm not sure I'm ready to know. I mean, I'm not alone anymore. I could have a real life, and I'm totally unprepared for that. I always thought I'd be dead long before things got to this point. I feel like I haven't even breathed in seven years...I need to just...digest everything. Maybe spend some time away. Giles has been getting on me about finding the rest of the Slayers."   
  
"You should leave. You deserve a break."   
  
"It's been a long time." The idea of a vacation seemed completely absurd. Not that finding Slayers would be all fun and games, Buffy knew, but it had been a long time since she'd even gotten a change of scenery. Suddenly, nothing seemed more appealing.   
  
Angel smiled, though it felt suspiciously like a particularly violent puppeteer was forcing the corners of his mouth upwards against his will. The idea of her leaving when he could finally see her again, touch her again, was almost unbearable. "Will you send me a postcard?"   
  
"I can do better than that. Would you come with me? I'll need all the help I can get trying to explain everything to these girls and their families, and you've always been a little more, um, tactful." Buffy gave him an impish grin. "Besides, it could be kinda fun. We'll stay in cheap motels and eat a lot of fast food and I'm not making this sound appealing, am I?"   
  
"You don't really have to. Spending time with you is pretty appealing in and of itself."   
  
"Good."   
  
They stared at each other.   
  
Buffy giggled.  
  
"What? What's so funny?" he asked, alarmed.  
  
"Us. This," she said, now laughing uncontrollably. "How stupid we are."  
  
"We're not stupid, Buffy, just cautious. We've both been hurt before."  
  
"Yeah, we have." She studied him, her hazel eyes tracing every contour of his body and somehow seeing past his skin, and into all the pain he carried around inside of it. "Now, let's try being happy." 


End file.
